not today
by jinglebellsisawesome
Summary: Spoilers for 8x06. "Wait," he pants. "You forgot something." She frowns, confused as she looks upon her carefully selected, sparse belongings. "You forgot me." Arya/Gendry ending with a dash of Hot Pie for good measure.


It is a rare sunny day when Arya Stark, the Hero of Winterfell, steps out onto the port of King's Landing. The sun's harsh rays blind but she is used to the dark, welcomes the shadows as an ally; a friend. Her closest companion. They were all she had when she was at her lowest in Braavos so it seems only fitting that they follow her now, into the unknown.

She holds her chin up, shoulders down and walks with purposeful stride to her ship. She is calm and confident with a coolness in her demeanour that stops people from getting too close to her; she is untouchable, unbreakable. Unshakable.

She is Arya Stark.

Yet there is a figure standing there, blocking her path to her one-way ticket to freedom and adventure and life. Irrational annoyance bubbles up within her, it is obvious that this here is her ship. However, the closer she prowls to her target, the more her vision clears and she is able to see for what seems to be the first time in years.

"Hot Pie?"

The little boy she had first met all those long years ago has all but melted away it seems, though there is still chubbiness around the gut. She half smiles at the thought; some things never change. And she never wants it to, either.

The boy before her simply shrugs. "Figured you could use a cook when you're goin' off to explore the unknown," he says. She is not sure where he heard such confidential information regarding her whereabouts, still, she is not as fearful or defensive as she imagined she would be. Mayhap he was keeping tabs on her, yes, she likes that idea. That's the kind of thing friends would do for one another. Were Arya a better woman she would have tearfully embraced him then, for the unlikely friendship that had blossomed between them – a friendship that grew and lived and _thrived_, all in war. Some good can come from evil, after all. The idea brings a small amount of comfort to her.

Arya inclines her head to her ship, a silent reply to his offer of companionship and warmth and _food_. Hot Pie makes so much food, she would never starve again. The boy grins at her, all crooked and missing teeth yet she didn't spare the sight a second glance. There were more important things in the world than beauty and sometimes beauty can be a curse – as Sansa had found out when she paid the price for her innocence and gullibility.

"What _is_ west of Westeros, anyway?" He asks, frowning. Arya resists the urge to roll her eyes in irritation though, truth be told, she is glad for his company for it brings back memories of a different era; when she had child's hope and innocence. Before she saw the world, the _true_ world.

She hops aboard her ship, her Braavosi coin slipping beneath her fingers as she twiddles it with slight trepidation and anxiety. But it is good anxiety – an insatiable hunger to see what else the world has to offer; to new possibilities and adventures that hopefully will not cost her any more family. Fun: she could not remember the last time she had 'fun' without the threat of her family dying looming over her head like their sword that took her lord father's head.

Ice.

Yet another remnant of a past best forgotten.

The wind whips at her face and she is grateful she put her hair in a tidy bun. The wind burns and she welcomes the distraction of pain. There is an uncontrollable emptiness in the pit of her stomach, starting small and then spreading far and wide as though it is consuming her very soul (if she has one, that is). It is not yet finished here, she realises, but she is unable to resolve that now. Time has deserted her and she has no one to blame but herself.

Still, she turns sharply on her heel, ignoring the stinging in the pit of her stomach and the low ache that accompanies it. This is all she has ever wanted, she reminds herself fiercely. She was not about to jeopardise that because of some misconstrued notion of conclusive endings; no matter how much she may want. Instead, she signals at the captain to prepare to leave.

"Wait. Wait."

She knows that voice, dreams of it. She wonders whether she is dreaming right now. Why else would he be here after she all but tore his heart out? _Surely he must realise by now that I am not worth the hassle._

Her breath catches in her throat yet she still does not turn around, can not bear to see the nothingness she knows will be there and not – him.

"_Wait_! Arya."

Throwing all caution to the wind on little more than a whim, Arya instructs the captain to halt all progress, although they have scarcely left the docks. She pauses for a slight moment, steeling herself and rebuilding her defences before spinning on her heel and coming eye-to-eye with the one lord she thought she would never see again

_Gendry_.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice is much harsher than it needs to be but she wants to make sure he is here for the right reasons and not blindly following in her footsteps for whatever reason.

"You forgot something," he pants, a scant few feet away from her where she stood on the edge of her ship. She frowns at his confident declaration, confused as she looks upon her carefully selected, sparse belongings. "You forgot me."

She feels naked under his gaze and for once in her life she is the one who turns away from his piercing blue stare, feeling as though he could look into her very soul.

"I thought you were the Lord of Storm's End."

Gendry shrugs, unbothered for titles and the weight of responsibility that accompany them. "Don't need 'em. Been Gendry Waters all my life, I don't need to be Gendry Baratheon now." He turns boyishly nervous, a shyness she had not associated with him before came to light and she found it amusing. "Much rather be with you anyway."

Arya ignores the strange lightness in her heart – both metaphorically and literally, she notices with disdain – at the sincerity in which he delivers his words.

"Fine," she says after a moment's deliberation. She appraises him, eyeing him from head to toe and then nods her head, as serious as the dead. (And she would know.) "I suppose you can stay."

Gendry grins. "Thank you, m'lady." Arya's lip twitches in responses, hardly noticeable but he knows her. _You can take the lowborn out of Gendry but you can't take Gendry from the lowborn._.. or something along those pissin' lines. He never was one for pretty words and poetry.

Not until he knew Arya Stark of Winterfell. Then he was as lost and as found as he is standing before her now, like a goddess sent from above.

"As long as you don't ask me to marry you again." She accompanies this remark with a mocking shudder that dances all along her spine and he laughs for real now, breaking their respective falsely tense postures in favour of breaking their shields down and letting the other in.

The sight takes his breath away. Arya truly does not know how beautiful she is, he thinks and immediately draws plans to rectify that – even if he has to risk her wrath by proclaiming his truth every day.

He bows his head in acquiescence of her request. He has no need for a fancy lordship with a fancy castle, he's made do for most of his life without and he'd say he's turned out all right. As long as he is with her, he is happy and if he has to relinquish some claim to a castle he's never stepped foot inside of then that's what he'll do. Anything for the woman in front of him. Gods, he loves her in a manner that's frightening to behold yet he could care less. All that matters to him is Arya.

Just Arya and Gendry. As it should be.

"Anyone want some pie?"

Oh, and Hot Pie.

_This should be fun._

.

.


End file.
